


Souled Out

by iconoclastic04



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Gore, Transcendence AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconoclastic04/pseuds/iconoclastic04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy, reincarnation of Willow, attempts to sell her soul. Dipper doesn't approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souled Out

**Author's Note:**

> Title puns are best puns.
> 
> Based off of [this headcanon](http://transcendence-au.tumblr.com/post/118768091065/i-was-scrolling-through-the-headcanons-and-i) from the Gravity Falls Transcendence AU.
> 
> Also, come say hi on [tumblr!](http://robotbeowulf.tumblr.com) I'm nice, I promise.

“Vocat Grigori. Custodes tacenti obsecro. Clamorem meum resurrexisse desperationis incurrit. Armaros, vos invoco. Armaros, ad me veniet. Armaros, non me solvere.” Amy resisted the urge to close her eyes, and instead stared steadily ahead, focusing on the center of the summoning circle she’d drawn in her garage. The candles beside her flickered. 

A minute passed. Nothing.

Amy swallowed. This had to work. This was her last resort, the result of nearly a week of incessant research. After this, there was no other option. “Armaros, vos invoco,” she repeated as sweat beaded on her forehead. “Armaros, ad me veniet. Armar—”

“All right, all right, I gotcha, lady. Sheesh, give a guy a little time, huh?” Amy blinked. In front of her stood a man—but only by the loosest definition of the word. His skin was so dark it shone nearly purple, and a huge pair of horns sprung from his forehead to curl behind his ears. He looked Amy up and down, raising an eyebrow. “You should feel honored, y’know. I only take summons from the pretty ones.” He grinned, revealing far more razor-sharp teeth than Amy was comfortable seeing fit in a single mouth. “What can I do ya for, toots?”

“I want to make a deal,” Amy said, carefully enunciating the words she’d memorized beforehand. “My only daughter was killed last week. I want to trade my soul for her life back. I want her alive and healthy again, to live until she dies of natural causes. Neither you nor any other demon is allowed to harm her. If that happens, the contract will be null and void.”

Armaros leered at her. “Sure your soul is all you want to give me, sweetheart?” Before Amy could respond, he cocked his head to the side, still staring at her. “Say, how was she killed?”

Amy swallowed. “She…” Unwittingly, memories flooded her head

Last Tuesday, Camille hadn’t been home at her regular time. At nine, she had barely started walking home from school by herself. Amy tried to push it out of her mind, telling herself that she had probably stopped to talk to a friend or look at an interesting bug. But twenty minutes ticked by, then forty. By the time an hour had passed, Amy was throwing on her coat and setting off down the quiet street of their subdivision.

She searched fruitlessly for nearly an hour, scouring the street leading to the school and every road branching off of it. Amy tried to push her growing unease to the back of her mind. I’ll find her, she told herself. I will. I have to.

The sun set early; it was only five-thirty when dusk began to fall. Amy had her phone out and was ready to dial 911 when she noticed something that had escaped her notice before—a tiny scrap of fabric, caught on some bushes that lined the sidewalk. She bent over and picked it up.

She recognized the pink background with tiny hearts. It was the dress that Camille had worn to school that day. Without a backwards glance, Amy plunged into the bushes. I have to find her. 

Soon she came upon an abandoned warehouse, leaning slightly to one side with a sign proclaiming “CONDEMNED - DO NOT ENTER” nailed to the front. She didn’t even look at the sign as she marched into the building, slamming the door open.

Almost immediately she staggered back. The stench was overpowering. Even working as a mortician, she’d never encountered such a strong smell of death. It hung almost palpably in the air, a fog of rot and decomposition. But Camille might be in there, and so Amy took one final breath of fresh air and entered.

The smell was worse inside. Even covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve, Amy could feel it sticking to the inside of her mouth. And the blood… she’d never seen so much blood. It coated the walls, dripped from the rafters, puddled on the ground. Mixed in with it was what appeared to be fragments of bone, organs, and muscles. Amy had a hard time looking long enough to be sure.

But the true horror of the room wasn’t the apparent pulverization of some poor unfortunate souls. Although the entire inside of the warehouse, including an intricate summoning circle drawn in the center of the floor was coated with viscera, there was a small circle that was completely devoid of any bodily fluids. A circle that was just small enough to contain… 

Amy choked out a sob and rushed forwards, heedless of the blood that splashed up to stain her shoes and pants. She ran forwards and knelt besides Camille’s body. “Oh, god…” she murmured, cradling her daughter’s head in her hands. Camille’s face was frozen in an expression of horror, her hands pressed to her stomach in a futile attempt to hold back the guts that spilled out of her stomach. “Oh, god.” Tears dripping down her face, Amy held her daughter’s corpse.

Blinking out of the memory, Amy looked into Armaros’s eyes. “Demon,” she said hollowly. “I don’t know which one. She was the sacrifice. Whoever summoned it got pureed, but not her. I—” Her voice broke. “I found her body.”

“Huh, sounds like the M.O. of a certain demon I know…” Armaros mused, tapping his chin with his index finger. 

“I don’t care. My soul for my daughter back, alive and well,” Amy snapped. “Do we have a deal?”

Armaros smiled, deep and wide and sharp. “Yes, we do,” he said. “As soon as we shake on it, it’s sealed.” He held out his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Amy raised her arm. She was just about to grab Armaros’ outstretched hand when a voice, full of reverb but surprisingly reedy, interrupted her. “S̵̢̪̬̱̼T̹̞O҉̳͟P̞̲͎̙͈̝͍̠̳!̶͓̥͓̪͓”

She and Armaros both swiveled around. Before them stood a demon, definitely a demon, dressed in a suit and floating slightly. “S̻̘̲̻͍̮͕͝ṯ̩̫̥̕ͅop,” he repeated, more calmly. “Armaro̡s͢, ͏t͘hat so͟ul ̵bel͞o̡n͟gs̡ ̢to m͚̠e̩͠.”

Armaros tilted his head to the left, grinning nastily. “Alcor!” he exclaimed. “What a delightful twist of irony. And no, actually, it doesn’t. This soul doesn’t belong to anyone...yet.” He moved his hand towards Amy again.

Alcor snarled, revealing a mouth full or dangerously sharp fangs. “N̵o̤̬͍̙͎͖͠,” he said simply. He raised his hand and snapped, and suddenly Amy felt a burning sensation spread across her chest. When she looked down, there was a symbol emblazoned on her chest: two stars, the top one larger and with wings that bent around the smaller. “S̡he h̷a̶s̴ ̢m̵y m̵a͘r͝k͏ on ͘he̸r̵ so͘u̴l.”

Amy stared at the demon, who stared back at her with wide eyes—black sclera and golden pupils. There was something incredibly offsetting about him, something more than just the wings erupting from his back or the double rows of teeth. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“That’s nice,” Armaros said, “but I think you’ll find that marking someone’s soul without owning it is a bit of an archaic concept. It’s like branding a slave you don’t own.” He held out his hand again, wiggling it a bit, as if to encourage Amy to shake it and seal the deal. Amy stretched her arm out farther.

“A͢n̨t̶a͏r̸es͜,” Alcor said. Amy jumped. How did Alcor know her true name? “Whý ͏a͜ré you̷ ͞s͜el̴l͟i͢ng ͟yo͜ur ͟s̸ou̢l͏?̀ W̶h͟at̸ h̤̳̰̠a̸͇̪̰p̜̤͕̣p̣ͅen̵̯̲͕͇e̮d̨?”

Despite her misgivings, Amy answered. “My daughter was killed. Some summoners used her as a demon sacrifice. They were pulverized, but I didn’t find her until too late.” With a sudden surge of confidence, she glared at him. “I’d do anything for her.”

Armaros chuckled. “Say, Alcor, I heard you were in the area last week. Killed a bunch of summoners for killing a child or something like that. Strange, but you’ve always been a bit of a softie. Don’t suppose this could be the same thing you’re talking about?”

Alcor’s eyes widened. “W̱ẖ̢͖̲̞a̸t̵̻͇͍͕͇̗͈? A͎͉̙͕r̡͉e͜ ̩̪͎̦̜̣̱y̷̻̹̰o͖u̵̥͖̬̪̫̹͎ i̠m̘͎̠͉p̶̳̣̘l̰̩y͈̼i̡̖͈n͘g͇ t̤h̡͍̩̜a̰̭̰t҉ ͎I̟̰̼̼̩̥̮͞—”

“I am,” Armaros said. “Whoever this soul is, she means a lot to you, and you killed her child.” His grin threatened to split his face in two. “That’s your child’s killer...” he said, turning to Amy. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “...trying to stop you from getting her back.”

“I’ll get her back,” Amy whispered back. “I have to. I have nothing left.” Before Alcor could react, she swung her hand up to meet Armaros’. Black flames crackled around their hands.

“Ḏ̰̮e̠̗̜͉̟ḁ̖̮̹l̝̮̰̦̲͉,” Armaros said. Amy felt a terrible pulling sensation from her chest, combined with an awful cracking sound. Dimly, some part of her recognized the sensation as her soul being pulled out of her body.

Amy gasped for breath. She was falling, falling, her hair whipping up past her face and wind whistling in her ears. Slowly, the wind faded to nothingness. She closed her eyes.

###

When she opened them again, she was in her bed. Carefully, she sat up.

“Mommy!” someone shouted, and a minute later Camille flung herself onto her.

Amy grabbed Camille and pulled her into a tight hug. “Camille? Oh my god, Camille, honey, I thought I’d lost you.”

Camille pulled back and gave her a bright smile. “Nope! I’m right here!” She rolled over as Amy brushed her fingers over her hair, unable to believe that she was really here. “Oh, by the way! The demon wants to talk to you.”

Amy froze. “D-demon?” she asked.

“Yeah!” Camille nodded. “Alcor? He’s downstairs. He said he would wait for you to wake up.”

Oh, no, thought Amy.

When she walked into the room, the demon was sitting on the couch. He perked up and offered a cautious smile at her. “Camille’s quite the bright child,” he said. “I can see why you care so much for her.”

“Don’t touch her,” Amy snarled. “Don’t come near her. Don’t even think about her. I want you far, far away from both of us.”

“Wait,” Alcor said, standing and holding his hands up. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“There wasn’t anything I could do! By the time I was summoned, it was too late. I killed the summoners, but the internal damage done to her was too severe. I couldn’t heal her without making a deal, and she...was already gone.” He looked at the ground, and for a second Amy believed him.

She shook her head, coming back to her senses. “You killed my child.”

“Amy, please,” Alcor said. “She’s fine now, isn’t she?”

“No thanks to you,” Amy retorted. “Why are you still here?”

“Actually…” Alcor hesitated. “When I killed Armaros, all deals he made were nullified, including the one to bring Camille back to life. I did that. For you. She doesn’t remember anything, and your soul is your own again.” He cracked a grin, the hollow expression ruining his previous sincerity. “Consider it a freebie.”

Amy swallowed. “How do you know my true name?”

Alcor’s mouth opened, then closed. “I—” He turned halfway around and muttered something under his breath, then turned back to Amy. “I have to go. Destroying an entire city does tend to make some enemies, and I think my dear friends at the U.S. military are calling. I’ll come back, Amy, and explain everything. I promise.” He gave her an apologetic smile and disappeared with a blip.

For almost a minute, Amy stared at the spot where he had been. He’d killed her daughter, brought her back to life, and was actually explaining things to her—and for what? Demons didn’t feel sentiment like humans did. And what was that about annihilating an entire city?

“Mommy?” Camille’s voice, wavering slightly, snapped her out of her reverie. “Look outside.”

Amy walked slowly to the front door, where Camille stood, poking her head outside. She opened it wider, and almost passed out. All around her was nothing but wreckage—mangled frames of cars, burnt-down shells of houses, what looked to be corpses smoldering in the street. Her house was the only one that hadn’t been completely destroyed.

“Annihilated is putting it lightly,” Amy murmured, tugging her daughter closer to her. As she surveyed the ruined city before her, she wondered just what she had gotten herself into.


End file.
